A Song of Our Fathers
by Tobi is a good boy
Summary: Laurie discovers a man, dead, beyond the Wall. She goes to Winterfell to investigate, but is mistaken as a man, a Wilding refugee. Her visions of The Cold Ones are becoming stronger each day. She must warn them before it is too late. Some eventual JonxOC Rated M.
1. The Cold Ones

_A Song of Our Fathers_

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own Game of Thrones or the song, 'A Song of Our Fathers' by Explosions in the Sky.

* * *

ONE: THE COLD ONES

In the midst of frozen tress, she could sense the presence of the Cold Ones, even in the chill northern air. The snow crunched loudly beneath her boots, even the sound of her breathing seemed loud. Laurie's hand gripped the hilt of her father's sword, as she neared the clearing of dense trees. Long silver chains of ice hung from tree branches, ringing as she passed through them.

Here, the presence of the Cold Ones grew stronger still. Their presence felt like a constant shadow, here in the lands beyond the Wall. The cold biting through her thick robes was not the cold of Winter.

Then, she saw it.

The body of a man was sprawled out in the snow.

Warily, she edge towards the dead man. Her movements, though quiet to most men, seemed loud in the silence of the frozen trees.

Piss and blood stained the snow around him a crimson red. The copper stench of blood clung in the air. In the man's right hand, was a twisted metal blade.

_Only something unnatural could have the strength to twist a metal blade so._

The man's eyes were bulbous, staring out into the great forest in terror. They said that the last image men saw before them was imprinted forever in their eyes.

All she could see was terror and her own pale face reflected back.

She shivered, not from the cold, but because of the unnerving stare of the dead man.

His body had been turned, as if in a hurry.

It was the Wilding's custom to burn bodies, and this body had not been burned. Nor had the eyes been closed, as was the Watch's custom for those who were found dead in the snow.

The snow and cold would bury the body anyway, so graves were pointless, here in the North. Ice was already forming over the exposed part of his body. Snow, also was already forming a coffin of sorts around him.

She knelt down, feeling the sticky blood and piss cling to her trousers.

_He must have been killed not too long ago._

With her gloved fingers, she carefully closed the man's eyes. There was a deep terror in them, still. Death had not faded his fear of whatever had killed him.

Scanning the forest floor, she could just make out the tracks leading towards the Wall.

_They were at least two days old, at least._

At this rate, she would never be able to reach whoever the man was and question him.

She made her way back to her horse, a small, furry beast Great branches rustled and twanged as she made her way out of the clearing.

Laurie swung herself into the saddle, pulling on the reins, following the footprints in the snow towards the wall.


	2. Winterfell

_A Song of Our Fathers_

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own Game of Thrones or the Explosions in the Sky song 'A Song of Our Fathers.'

TWO: WINTERFELL

* * *

Jon Snow watched as the young man pulled down his leather hood, to reveal shoulder length black hair with a stripe of white. The young man was smaller than Jon, more lithe in figure.

The man's grey cloak was stained and worn from use, the leather boots also looked the same. Tied around his arm was a black armband. Perhaps, Jon thought to himself, this was one of the famous Rangers from the Night's Watch.

Jon continued to watch the newcomer as he entered Winterfell. On the man's back, there was strapped a fine curved bow. He could also see a fine ivory headed knife hanging from the man's belt-not often worn by Wildings or peasants, unless they were stolen.

The man's eyes met Jon's- eyes so pale blue that they were almost silver in this light.

"Excuse me," the man said in a soft voice, "I seek the Lord of Winterfell on urgent business from the Wall. Could you take me to him?"

Jon stood from his perch. "Certainly, mi-lord."

The young man laughed, kindly. "Do I look like a lording to you?"

Jon looked down at the young man. It seemed to him that despite the garb the man wore, that he was still young. Perhaps even the same age as him, or Robb. His face was pale, govered in grime and sweat.

Jon shook his head uncertainly. In silence, the pair walked to his father's council chambers.

Inside, they were still preparing for the King's visit. Decorations were still being hung from the walls in the harsh stone castle.

His father was sat at the head of the room, at a large wooden table. He looked weary and was stroking his greying beard. His father's head looked up in surprise when he saw Jon enter the room.

Usually, Jon tried to stay out of his father council's. He would much rather watch from afar. Or even go to Maester Luwin's lessons.

His father's deep voice rang within the room: "Speak, stranger."

The young man bowed slightly, "Lord Stark. I seek a man who deserted from the North a few days ago so as to question him."

"That man was executed a few days ago. There was nothing he could have spoken to you, except madness."

At his father's words, the young man sighed and swallowed, speaking: "Then I ask your Lordship permission to look at the body, for there are many signs I can read from the Dead."

His father looked at the man sharply. "Why are you so keen to see this man? Are you one of the Night's Watch?"

For a moment, the young man did not answer.

"No, I am not of the Night's Watch."

The young man raised his head. His words echoed in the hall. "Winter is coming, Lord Stark. That is why I seek that man."


	3. Trick of the Light

A Song of Our Fathers

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own Game of Thrones

THREE: Trick of the Light

Ned Stark turned to face his wife. From her expression, he could tell he looked weary and tired. It was the look of a wife. Gods knew that he and Cat's marriage did not start with love, just with duty. As the summers and years passed, they had grown into a love of sorts, still bound by their duty to one another.

"What sort of trick is this?!" He stroked his beard, feeling the long bristles underneath his fingertips. He would have to shave soon or Cateyln would complain about the long bristles of his beard. He still wore his leather riding boots, caked with mud. Sweat clung to back of his neck, despite the cool weather.

Cateyln, in reply, sighed. "I do not know, Ned." There was tiredness in her voice.

Cateyln's long red hair was beginning to fade now, after the years. It was tied back in a long braid, some strands loose around her worried face. Her lips were pursued in a thin line. She wore no paint on her face or lips, unlike the ladies in the South.

He paced the room of their quarters. Their quarters were not the plush luxury of the lords of the South, but made comfortable with large hangings on the wall for insulation. Large rugs were spread across the wooden floors. A fire burned in the grate, casting shadows on the stone walls.

Ned had never liked the business of politics; the stern leadership of the north had come uneasily to him. He had learnt, over the years, how to be a dutiful lord. His brother was the one that was supposed to be the Lord of Winterfell. It had come more easily, naturally to his brother.

"Could this man be sent as a spy?" His voice was quiet in the room, the fire crackled in the hearth.

Catelyn was silent for a while. The threat of Mance Rayder lurked on both their minds. Indeed, so did the contents of letter, now burnt away to ash in the fireplace.

"Benjen," she said, "He may yet come to the King's Feast. Ask him about this man."

"Aye," Ned sat upon the bed beside his wife. "That is what I shall do then."

X

The morning was still young when Laurie stepped out into the main courtyard. Her breath came out in smoky fog. Despite being this far south, she still wore her bow and quiver strapped over her grey cloak. She felt uncertain, uncomfortable. Laurie was used to the cold, stark barren northern waste of snow beyond the wall. The hustle and bustle, even this early in the morning perturbed her. Some of the merchants gave her odd looks, but shook their heads and muttered lowly under their tongues.

Laurie was used to odd looks. Her hair, with its' white streak, made her often the butt of jokes. She tucked a strand behind her ear.

In the corner of her eye, she spotted a familiar grey and brown falcon sitting upon the battlements, greeting the morning with a cheerful chirp.

_He had followed her then, this far south._

Pursing her lips, she whistled, tapping her shoulder. The falcon flew swiftly down, landing softly on the padded leather armour on her cloak. Yellow talons gripped her shoulder.

"Have you come to see then?" she asked, out loud.

The bird cocked its sleek head; its beady eyes seemed to sparkle in response to her words. His feathers were a soft brown, tipped with white.

Lord Eddard had granted her leave to view the body of the deserter. It had been given grudgingly and with much looks of suspicion, but it was permission nonetheless.

The man had been buried a few days ago, but his body would have not decayed too much that she could not interpret some signs still left upon it. The body had been buried in the common burial grounds, a few miles westwards from Winterfell.

Something pricked at her ears, the footsteps of someone trying too hard to be quiet. She could hear the loud breaths behind her.

She turned, only to see the young man who had met at the gates of Winterfell.

"Boy, are you stalking me?"

The young man she laughed uncertainty. His grey eyes were so dark that it seemed to her that they were black. "How did you know it was me?"

"I could hear you, boy" she responded quickly. The youth was tall, with curly black hair, the fresh growings of a beard upon his face. His face reddened, he looked downwards at his feet for a moment before meeting her eyes again. They glanced over at the bird on her shoulder.

"Is he yours?" he asked, gazing at the bird curiously.

"He's…a friend," Laurie replied. "My friends call me Laurie," she said, holding out a gloved hand. After a moment, the youth shook it.

"Jon Snow," he responded, his dark eyes meeting hers.

The falcon screeched, its' long talons pressing tighter into her shoulder. It's caws screeched loudly into the cool summer air.


End file.
